Behind the Battle Lines
by avanti90
Summary: Armsman Esterhazy has to choose a side.


The day of the funeral went by in a blur for Esterhazy. He was running in circles all over Vorkosigan Surleau, coordinating with Armsman-commander Davies for the Emperor's security, dealing with the fits of paranoia that ImpSec was prone to get whenever said Emperor and his three closest male relatives were within blast radius of each other, and generally jumping wherever and whenever Lady Alys Vorpatril told him to jump. He didn't mind it at all. He'd do anything to distract himself from the fact that the Count was dead.

No, he reminded himself when he finally got a moment to breathe, the Count was not dead. Counts never died. It was the Count's father whose body had been carried to its grave, and the Count was the man who would light the pyre.

He had knelt and placed his hands between those of the new Count. He had sworn his fealty and his service. But after twenty years it was impossible to make the words _Count Aral_ sit comfortably in his head, and he doubted that they ever would. So he stood by the graveside with his brother-armsmen, and grieved silently for the man who'd been his liege-lord, his commander, the center of his existence for almost half of his life.

Others grieved, too. The new Lord Vorkosigan's hands were trembling as he cut his offering, the knife almost slipping from his hand to draw blood. The new Count lit the pyre with a steady hand and accepted condolences with a steady voice, but Esterhazy saw him turn away to wipe his eyes when he thought no one was watching.

The newly enthroned Emperor irritably obeyed Lady Alys's orders, reluctantly permitted the new Countess to fuss over him, and spent the entire ceremony standing as far away from his foster-parents as politeness would allow. Esterhazy couldn't quite help smiling fondly at the boy's obvious exasperation. He was twenty-two, after all. They all turned sullen at that age. But Armsman Esterhazy would always look at his Emperor and see the little boy who'd played with his children by the lake all those years ago.

And now that boy ruled an Empire, and Joszef was at the district academy, never bothering to write a letter to his aging parents, and Natalia was going to be married. It was astonishing how fast children grew up, while men like him grew old and tired. Now that the Count was dead, he thought, he had little reason left to serve. He would pass out the three years to retirement, and then he and Lydia could settle down comfortably in the cottage by the lake and let the children take over.

Three years. He prayed they would pass peacefully.

* * *

The weeks after the funeral were full of changes for Esterhazy. He had never followed Lord Vorkosigan about much – that had been a job for the younger armsmen. His place had been to wait upon his Count. For the last decade or so, that had meant little more than sorting out the medicines every morning and subtly encouraging the stubborn old General to please listen to his doctors once in a while. Now it meant following the Prime Minister from his office to the residence to parties all over Vorbarr Sultana and trying not to collapse. After a week, he began to wonder whether ImpSec had developed a secret time machine, or reality had simply never worked up the courage to tell Aral Vorkosigan there were only twenty-six hours in a day.

The day began with Esterhazy following the Count to the Residence for a meeting with the Emperor and some officials from Galactic Affairs, in the Green Room as usual. It was certainly beautiful, he thought, with its heavy green drapes and antique silk wall coverings, so it was unsurprising that the Emperor liked it. Especially given its added advantage of being the only place in the Residence where he could work without the shadow of his formidable Regent lurking in every corner.

Everyone straightened in their seats and reached for their notes as soon as the Count entered. He took his seat at the Emperor's right hand, and Esterhazy took the wall along with the Vorbarra armsmen, exchanging a languid salute with Davies across the room. They'd been friends together in ImpSec decades ago, and he'd recommended Davies to the Lord Regent when a vacancy came up in young Gregor's squad of armsmen. Since then they'd kept in touch, catching up over maple mead and bomb squad schedules whenever the Emperor visited Vorkosigan Surleau. He let his mind drift off during Minister Racozy's presentation, and eventually came back to find him finishing off, "although the Escobarans still maintain their refusal to permit Barrayaran trade fleets to enter their space with military escorts –"

The Emperor looked up sharply. "That's absurd," he said. "Our fleets need those escorts badly. No other planet in the nexus made a fuss about it."

"Sire," said Racozy cautiously, "no other planet on the nexus has the history with us that Escobar does."

"They're the ones who wanted the treaty so badly," countered the Emperor. "The Escobarans allow Cetagandan ships to pass through their space, it's an unfair advantage. Insist on the fleets."

Even from across the room, Esterhazy could see the pleading look that Racozy shot in the Prime Minister's direction. "Sire," began Count Vorkosigan in a patient tone, "The Escobaran government simply cannot let a Barrayaran warship into their space. They would lose all public support if they did so. Merely talking to us was an enormous risk for them. For us to jeopardise the entire treaty after that gesture of trust would send all the wrong signals."

The Emperor looked exasperated. "So you recommend that we give them everything they want?"

"I suggest that after spending months painstakingly hammering out a mutually beneficial agreement, it might be unwise to throw it all away on what is, in comparison, a minor issue," said the Prime Minister calmly. "What matters in diplomatic relations is establishing a long-term relationship. By not insisting on a show of force, we build trust, which will help us in the next round of negotiations, and the next, until ultimately both sides get what they want. Slowly, but peacefully."

Racozy seemed to be breathing again. The Emperor fiddled with his light-pen uncomfortably. "Very well," he said abruptly. "Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all." A few people glanced in the Count's direction. Since he seemed to have no objection, the meeting adjourned. Esterhazy suppressed another fond smile at the Emperor's expression. The poor boy. He'd probably have to take this every day until his Prime Minister retired. Alas, there were no signs of that happening anytime soon.

He followed the Count of the Residence and into the Great Square, where their groundcar was waiting. "Sometimes I think the boy would like to have a war," muttered a voice behind them.

The Count turned to face Captain Illyan. "He is young, and he wants to be heroic. All boys go through this, Simon. I did."

Illyan very prudently avoided the topic of Count Vorkosigan in his youth. "All boys are not the Emperor," he pointed out. "It's dangerous."

"Gregor will be all right," said the Count, calmly and a little fondly. "Anything more about the matter we discussed last week?"

Illyan shook his head. "Very little. I've got an agent in procurement going over all his records. There's enough evidence to suggest that money disappeared somewhere in the chain between the Admiral's staff and the shipyard contractor, but nothing to link him directly to it. Certainly nothing to link the Count to it."

"Not enough, Simon," said the Count. "Not enough. I need to know who's at the top of this racket, otherwise they'll just cover their tracks and escape. I need proof to-"

Esterhazy stood silently by and let them talk about budgets and ship costs and overheads. He missed the smell of the clean country air at Vorkosigan Surleau, and the lake and the horses, and his family, and he wondered what three years of this would be like.

* * *

A week after Winterfair, Esterhazy found himself in the Residence again, this time at a diplomatic reception in honor of the new Betan ambassador. He took his place on the wall while the Count and Countess made their way past friends and colleagues and hangers-on to reach the Emperor. He greeted them politely enough - the boy had always been polite - but Esterhazy could tell something was wrong. He could almost see the tension in the air when they spoke, and the Emperor waved them on to the bewildered-looking Betan Ambassador so quickly it was almost rude. She and the Countess immediately clung to each other like a pair of drowning women, and didn't let each other escape for the rest of the evening.

The Emperor, Esterhazy noticed, seemed to relax perceptibly when they left him. What was going on? He tried to keep his eyes open throughout the evening, but all he could pick up were little things - like the way Count Vordrozda was continuously at the Emperor's side, whispering in his ear, encouraging him to talk, laughing at his jokes. Like the fact that this was a far more lavish affair than diplomatic receptions normally were. And the Emperor was in full glitter-laden parade uniform even though winterfair was over. Such ostentation was unlike the boy. Esterhazy knew him to be the shy and retiring sort. What was he trying to prove?

"Armsman." He turned to see Lady Alys Vorpatril. Thankfully he managed to resist the automatic urge to straighten his uniform. He, like every Vorkosigan armsman, had had one close encounter with what young Maisky had labeled the Improper Dress Death Glare, and had yet to recover from it. "My lady," he said, praying fervently that his boots were perfectly shined. She lowered her voice. "Admiral Hessman just spent half an hour talking to Count Vordrozda, and left immediately for Fleet Headquarters. Aral will need to know."

"Yes, milady," he answered, memorizing the message. She returned to the crowd in a graceful swirl of skirts.

He asked a passing waiter where Count Vorkosigan was, and was pointed down the hall. He shook his head in disgust. What was ImpSec coming to these days? The idiot was actually wearing his fatigue t-shirt under his white jacket, and letting the sleeve show. Never mind, one Death Glare would cure him of that.

One door was slightly ajar, and he could hear voices from within. One was unmistakably the Count's. The other – Esterhazy stopped. The message would have to wait; he could not interrupt a conversation with the Emperor.

"How could I possibly know?" the Count was saying exasperatedly. "The boy was supposed to be visiting his _grandmother_. It was the most harmless thing I could think of. Trust him to -"

"Trust him to recruit a deserter, fly into a war zone, and assemble a fleet of war? No, I didn't trust him to do that, Aral."

"Perhaps," said a third voice, the thin sarcastic voice of Count Vordrozda, "someone did."

_Fleet of war?_ He was distracted from the Count's reply by a tap on his shoulder. He turned. It was Davies, in all his black-and-silver imperial finery. "I'm heading down to the kitchens to grab a bite," he said quietly. "Want to join me?" Esterhazy read the unspoken message in his eyes – _urgent and immediate_.

Davies began as soon as they'd settled down in a corner of the kitchen with their sandwiches. "Lord Vorkosigan."

Esterhazy knew it was a question. "The boy went off-planet to visit his mother's family. Then for some reason he took a fancy to become an interstellar trader, bought a jumpship, hired a crew, and left. The Countess eventually managed to persuade the Count not to declare war on Beta Colony, and now ImpSec is looking out for him."

Davies looked surprised. "That's all you know?"

Was there more? "You know the Count never discusses classified information where it can be overheard." Though his armsmen had other ways of finding out what they needed to know.

"Then," said Davies, "you should know that ImpSec received a report yesterday. Lord Vorkosigan is in Tau Verde."

Esterhazy blinked in surprise. Tau Verde? "But… but I thought that was a war zone."

"It is. And he's right there in the middle of the war. He turned up there in charge of a mercenary fleet – which, by the way, he's named after the mountains in his father's district, just to make it as obvious as possible. The Dendarii Mercenaries. Admiral Miles Naismith of Beta Colony, commanding."

Esterhazy put down his sandwich. If it had been anyone less trustworthy than Davies, anyone less maniacal than Lord Vorkosigan, he would have dismissed it as a bad joke. A mercenary fleet? "But that's-"

Davies was watching him closely. "A violation of Vorloupulous's Law. Yes."

"Treason," whispered Esterhazy in horror. The conversation he'd overheard made perfect, terrible sense now. He pushed his plate away, suddenly losing all appetite. "This is going to be hushed up, isn't it?" If it came out, the scandal would surely destroy the Prime Minister's coalition, perhaps even the government itself.

Davies seemed to be choosing his words with great care. "Normally, it would have been. But there are certain people around the Emperor who have other ideas about how to deal with it. Ideas that coincidentally happen to suit their own agendas."

"What does that mean, exactly?" He was pushing it, he knew. That was dangerously close to asking an armsman to betray his liege-lord's confidence.

Davies finished his sandwich and stood up, brushing the crumbs off his uniform. "It means I'm trying to warn you," he said seriously. "Stay alert. And choose carefully."

* * *

A month passed, during which the whole of Vorbarr Sultana heard all about Lord Vorkosigan and the Dendarii mercenaries. The tension between the Emperor and his Prime Minister grew day by day, until they were barely speaking to each other. Esterhazy, however, had other things to worry about.

At the end of the month, Natalia was married in the ballroom of Vorkosigan House, in as much splendor as any lady of the High Vor could have asked for, and the Count and Countess stood themselves as witnesses. He had been momentarily stunned when the Count had casually offered Vorkosigan House as a wedding venue – his first thought was _Count Piotr would be turning in his grave_ - but these were the people who'd married off a grocer's son to a sergeant's daughter in theRed Room of the Imperial Residence, and he well remembered Count Piotr's reaction to _that_.

"She misses Elena," Lydia whispered to him, as they watched the bride and groom take their first dance on the magnificent marble floor. Bothari's lovely little Elena was to have stood as second. Where was she now? Was she safe in the midst of all those galactic soldiers? Surely Lord Vorkosigan would not have made an innocent girl a party to his crime.

"Tanya makes a good second," he said, looking at Lydia's cousin's daughter, seven years older than the bride, standing alone by the wall.

"Oh!" Lydia's hand flew to her mouth. "Thank goodness you reminded me. I promised her mother I'd speak to Madam Fortescue… she has an unmarried son. There's not much chance that they'll do anything but refuse, but I did promise to be a good baba for the poor child. It's not even her fault, really." She hurried off across the room.

Of course, he realized. The girl's grandfather had been a Vordarian armsman. Her parents tried her best, but treason was a taint that couldn't be washed off in a mere two generations. Her brother was not here - he had failed to get admission to the Academy last month. Esterhazy looked at Joszef, looking so proud and grown-up in his cadet's uniform, staring at Admiral Vorkosigan with a dog-like expression on his face.

And that brought up the image of another boy, an image he'd been avoiding for days. A little five-year old boy curled up shivering in the cold and dark, crying for his mother. A boy he'd held and comforted and soothed to sleep with lullabies in the middle of the night. A boy who he'd taught to milk a goat, and the mess he'd made of it, and the delight on his little face afterwards. An Emperor of three planets, who never forgot to send a winterfair gift to the man he'd called _father _for all of two weeks.

He looked back at his daughter, so beautiful and charming and radiant with joy, and forced himself to smile for her sake.

The day after the wedding, Esterhazy entered the Count's study to find Captain Illyan seated there. An ocean of flimsies was spread out on the desk between him and the Count, and in the center of it all rested a small portable cone of silence. He stopped dead in the doorway. So the rumors of secret meetings were true.

"This still isn't enough, Simon," the Count was saying, frustration evident in his voice.

"It's all my analysts managed to extract," Illyan replied blandly. "There's only so much I can do unofficially, you realize."

Esterhazy suppressed a shudder. Not just meetings, then. Illyan truly was running secret missions for the Prime Minister. If that was true, how much more was also true? How much worse?

The Count closed his eyes. "Find me what I need, Simon," he whispered. "Find me proof of Vordrozda's involvement, proof hard enough to convince Gregor, and all this will be over."

"Yes, sir," replied Illyan instantly, apparently unperturbed by the fact that the man before him had no authority to give such an order. "My agent in Hessman's office is very close. Maybe in two more weeks."

"Two more weeks," sighed the Count. "All right, Simon. We can hold out that long."

Esterhazy went out, closing the door behind him. He leaned his head against the wall, wondering if he should just hand his resignation to the Count now and be done with it. But that would be a betrayal of more than his oath. It would be a betrayal of the House his family had served for generations, and of Count Piotr's memory. But if Count Piotr's descendants were themselves betraying his memory, where did his loyalties lie?

Well, he thought, replaying the Count's words, perhaps he would find out in two weeks.

Two weeks later, Captain Simon Illyan was arrested for treason.

* * *

It was past two o'clock in the morning when Esterhazy refilled the Count's mug with coffee for the tenth time. The Countess sat cross-legged on the library carpet, clutching a red pen in her right hand and a blue pen in her left. It was a measure of how bad the situation was that Lady Alys had yet to say a single word about ladylike posture. A seating plan of the Council of Counts was spread out at the Countess's feet. About half the squares were already filled in red or blue. Mostly red.

The Count was leaning back in his armchair, eyes closed. He looked almost relaxed, but Esterhazy had learned to read his posture by now. There was tension in every bone. "Fifth row," he murmured. "Start from the left."

The Countess stabbed her pen at an empty square in at the corner. "Vortrifrani." Lady Alys winced. The Count scowled. "He's probably throwing a party tonight."

Esterhazy knew he was. He'd had it from one of the Vormoncrief armsmen. The red pen scratched across the paper. "Vorbretten."

"Vorbretten," Lady Alys declared contemptuously, "is a coward. His son and I tried our best, but I think the best we can hope for is an abstension."

The Countess went on. "Vorvolk."

"That one's easy," the Count put in. "The boy will vote as he always does - whichever way the Emperor wants him to vote."

The Countess hesitated. Lady Alys very gently took the pen from her hand and filled the square with red.

"That idiot boy," muttered the Count. "What is he doing out there? Why hasn't he come home? Why hasn't he sent us a message at least?"

No one could give him an answer. They went through all the empty squares, and it was nearly three when Lady Alys finally rose. The Count saw her to the door. "Alys," he said as she was leaving, "Will you be here with Cordelia while I'm in council? Just in case she needs a..."

She gave him a firm nod. "I will. Get some sleep, Aral." Esterhazy wondered what the Count had been about to say. A distraction? A friend? A shopping companion? He had a sudden vision of the two Vor ladies rolling Vordrozda's head across the floor of the Council of Counts. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of what would follow _that._

The Countess hadn't moved. She was still sitting with her chin in her hands, staring down at the sea of blood-red squares. "We're going to lose, aren't we?"

The Count lowered himself down next to her on the carpet and folded up the offending sheet. "Not necessarily," he told her. "There's always the possibility that Vorhalas may come through for us. Or that some new piece of evidence will turn up. Or that Gregor will miraculously grow some common sense overnight." The Countess snorted in a very un-ladylike fashion, cuddling up close to her husband. Esterhazy kept his expression blank as the Count put his arm around her shoulders and drew her still closer. She leaned her head on his green-uniformed shoulder and closed her eyes. "Or that pigs will fly," she muttered.

"That, too." He smiled bleakly. "Should that not be the case, then yes, we will lose. Miles will be convicted, and I will be forced to resign as Prime Minister. Vorbarr Sultana will then no longer be safe for you. I don't think they would bother Alys, but you-"

The Countess's eyebrows rose. "No," she interrupted in her flattest Betan voice, "Aral, we've had this conversation before. I'm not leaving."

"You won't have a problem. The Betans will be delighted to protect you from us bloodthirsty barbarians. There's Escobar too, any Escobaran government that tried to refuse you political asylum would be impeached–"

She laid a finger over his lips. "Stop," she said firmly. "Aral, this is not going to happen. We're not going to let this happen."

The Count bent down and rested his forehead against hers. "Oh, dear Captain," he whispered. "How do you plan to stop it?"

Esterhazy tensed. He could almost feel the fate of the whole Imperium balanced on this moment, tilting, teetering, and… and then his comlink buzzed.

Reluctantly, he went out. Maisky was waiting for him in the hallway. "What is it?"

The younger armsman didn't waste time. "Another approach."

Esterhazy hissed through his teeth. "Not here." He led Maisky out of the room and to a small table at the back of the kitchen, where there were at least theoretically no bugs. "Who was it this time?"

"Sebastian," replied Maisky. "He was off-duty, and a couple of men in the pub offered him three thousand marks for the names of all the men on the General Staff who've promised their support to the Count." There was a note of pride in his voice as he added, "He told them to go to hell, sir."

"Good man," said Esterhazy. "Tell him to file a report with ImpSec."

Maisky hesitated. "He already did that, sir. I don't think they're taking it very seriously. I've been talking to the new guard commander, and…"

"And?" said Esterhazy sharply. The ImpSec guards on Vorkosigan House had all changed three weeks ago. The new ones made no secret of the fact that they had different priorities from the old.

"He wants his men to take over monitoring the security feeds from the Count and Countess's wing," said Maisky hurriedly. "I told him I needed your permission, sir, I thought if you told the Count-"

One step closer to house arrest. Esterhazy raised a hand to stop him. "Do it."

Maisky hesitated. "But, sir-"

Esterhazy shook his head. "The Count has too many things to worry about. Do it."

"Yes, sir." He stared down at his boots, still hesitating. "Sir," he whispered finally, "what are we going to do?"

Esterhazy saw the boy's expression, and knew that they weren't talking about security vids anymore. He got up and poured out two mugs of coffee, more to buy himself time than anything else. Neither of them officially had the night shift, but it was clear that they wouldn't sleep tonight anyway. "We keep our oaths," he answered simply, for lack of anything better to say.

The boy's voice was barely a whisper. "Which ones?"

He looked at Maisky, unable to find an answer. The boy would have been – twelve, maybe thirteen at the time of the Pretendership? He had no idea. No idea what it was like to fight a civil war. Esterhazy knew only too well.

Lydia and Jozsef had been visiting relatives in the capital on the unforgettable day when Vordarian's forces staged their coup. She'd been three months pregnant with Natalia then. They'd been taken hostage within hours of the fighting breaking out, and he had been at Tanery Base with the Count and Lord Vorkosigan. He could have gone and given himself up, told what he knew in exchange for their safety, but he had not. No, he had stood by in silence while the Lord Regent declared that he would sacrifice hostages to win the war.

He had been younger then. He didn't think he had that much strength left now. Maisky, he realized belatedly, had two daughters.

"What will the Count do?" Maisky asked miserably. "Has he told you? Do you know?"

What would he do? Esterhazy tried to imagine how he would react if it was Jozsef chained in the middle of the great square, starving to death – no. No parent could stand by and watch that. The question was not what, but how. A rescue attempt in the dead of night, swift and secret? A sudden coup staged by the Vorkosigan worshippers in the space forces? Or the tried and tested family tradition of over-enthusiastic shopping? It needn't even be the Countess, Esterhazy knew the Count had killed men in duels before. It hardly mattered. All paths would be equally fatal.

And twenty men would be left standing in the middle of it all, forced to make a choice between their liege-lord and their lawful Emperor. With him as their commander, to look to for direction. Esterhazy wanted to bury his head in his hands, but not in front of Maisky, not when the boy had come to him for comfort. He wondered if there was any point in trying to preserve his dignity now, when they were all doomed to dishonor no matter what.

"Armsman," he said at long last, searching for something – anything, to reassure the boy, "I have known Lord Vorkosigan ever since he could walk. In all the years that he and Emperor Gregor played together at make-believe, I have never seen him take any role but that of the loyal knight, serving and defending his master with every breath. I have seen the Count hold the throne of three planets for sixteen years, and never once attempt to do anything with it but keep it safe for its lawful owner. I have seen the Countess defend her foster-son's right to happiness, guarding him from men who would have treated him as less than human, every bit as fiercely as she protected her own son." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I cannot tell you what decision to make," he said finally, "and I cannot tell you when it becomes right to break an oath. But I can tell you one thing. The Vorkosigans are not traitors."

He tried to bring as much conviction as he could into his voice, but suddenly he found that there was no need to try. He knew it.

* * *

That morning, the Count and Countess sat closer to each other than usual, holding hands under the breakfast table. The Countess kissed her husband fiercely as he stood in the doorway, and they held each other close for a long time before he left. Esterhazy knew what decision had been taken as soon as he saw their faces. They were going to fight, or go down fighting. There was no way they would ever acknowledge defeat.

Neither, he realized with sudden certainty, would he. He would take the side of his conscience, wherever it might lead him.

The Count was watching him intently. "Armsman," he said quietly, and Esterhazy realized that it was a question.

He could see the ImpSec driver - the new one - listening carefully by the door of the waiting groundcar. "My lord Count," he answered. "Good luck." Then, on an impulse, he added - "We will await your orders, sir." The Count looked at him in a moment of perfect understanding, and nodded silently. There was nothing to be said.

As soon as the Count had left for Vorhartung Castle, he made a call to Vorkosigan Surleau. Lydia's smile disappeared as soon as she saw his expression. "Your sister on the South Continent," he began.

She'd been an armsman's wife for over two decades. She didn't waste time. "What about her?"

"Go and visit her," he ordered. "Today. Tell Joszef to get out of the academy and join you there. Take Natalia and her husband. Just take all the children and go." She nodded, going pale, and cut the comm. She had lived through one war. She knew what to do. And as for him…

He knew which side he was on.


End file.
